


A Better Monster

by SneakyBunyip



Category: Hammer Films - Fandom, Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, The Curse of Frankenstein
Genre: A Tea Party that ends in a Force Choke, Force Choking (Star Wars), Gen, Is anyone surprised Victor is the middle child?, It ends better than the previous tag suggests, Tarkin Siblings, Victor and Vader first meeting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-20 02:36:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18983476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SneakyBunyip/pseuds/SneakyBunyip
Summary: Wilhuff Tarkin introduces Darth Vader to his younger brother, Victor, who has a unique set of skills that could prove useful.





	A Better Monster

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Birthday, Peter Cushing! This is my contribution to [Peter's Day In May - Peter Cushing's Birthday Tumblr Blog](https://peter-cushings-day-in-may.tumblr.com/)

The glossy obsidian surface of Tarkin’s dining room table was flecked with bits of silver reminding Vader of the vast untamed galaxy. At the table’s center was a dark globe projector currently glowing with a soft ambient light, like an attainable dying star. 

It was a calm setting, pointedly calm. 

It did nothing to ease Vader’s nerves.

“Why must I be here, governor?” Vader asked, taking his seat at the table. 

Tarkin entered the dining room in full uniform, carrying a tray of teacups, a black clay teapot and an assortment of biscuits.

Vader had always known Tarkin to wear simple cardigans and slacks when at home, and he wondered if the uniform was for Vader’s benefit or for his other guest. Vader had not the luxury of wearing casual clothes, forever a prisoner in his own dark suit. If it was, indeed, for his benefit, Vader decided Tarkin need not go to such lengths. "Comfort" was not a word Vader had know in decades.

_ Such is the will of the Force. _

“Why not?” Tarkin asked, arranging the biscuits, jelly jars and a saucer of churned butter on the center tray.

“Because the last time I met one of your sibling, he accused me of being a “Hellish apparition” and waved a pair of crossed sticks at me.”

Tarkin continued to adjust the flaky biscuits obsessively, his sunken cheeks pulling upwards in a subtle smirk. “I assure you, Victor is quite different than Abraham. I believe you two may actually get along.”

“I have little interest in the camaraderie of more Tarkins.”

At this Tarkin  _ did _ look up, a thin eyebrow raising. “Humor me, Vader. By the end of the evening if you remain unconvinced I will never subject you to these social engagements again.”

“I will not be convinced,” Vader said, flatly.

“We shall see.”

The front door hissed open.

“Wilhuff?”  The voice sounded very similar to Tarkin’s, but lighter and decidedly more impetuous. 

Vader did not like him.

“In the dining room, Victor,” Tarkin called, wiping his hands on a cloth napkin and smoothing out his uniform. 

Tarkin was the eldest of the three brothers, Abraham was the youngest - a gentle creature with a soft, but intelligent voice. He was, as Tarkin put it, a scholar and adventurer, though Vader perceived him as little more than a paranoid witch hunter. 

Tarkin had not disagreed when Vader said as much. 

Though Tarkin spoke often of Abraham, Victor was a mystery to Vader. 

He was a scientist - that was all Tarkin would say.

When Doctor Victor Frahnk'nshtyyyn Tarkin walked into the dining room, however, Vader no longer wondered why Tarkin deigned to speak of him.

Victor wore a foppish and expensive brown suit, a matching vest of gaudy gold stitching and a frilly, stark white shirt. The cream-colored bowtie was wrapped several times around his slender neck and there was a hint of a silver chain peeking between the fabric. It was a chain Abraham and Tarkin also wore though what hung at its end, Vader could not tell. His hair was slightly darker and fuller than his elder brother’s, curled on top and wavy at the sides with long angular sideburns that curved audaciously beneath his sharp cheekbones.

While Abraham had worn a genuine warm smile when greeting his older brother, Victor’s smile was little more than a flimsy mask, practiced, artificial, and empty.

Vader had promised Tarkin not to read either of his siblings with the Force, but the Force was not one to listen when it needed to broadcast warnings to Vader.

And it's warning was very clear: the Dark Side wrapped around Victor like a death shroud.  It lifted the doctor’s smiling facade with ease and revealed to Vader a grinning skull, a merciless reaper.

_ Victor and Death are well-acquainted bedfellows,  _ the Force whispered to Vader.

Vader rose to his feet.

“Doctor,” Vader greeted.

This greeting was entirely unexpected to Tarkin and the grand moff showed as much in his face. When Abraham had come to tea, Vader had said nothing, and certainly not bothered to stand. Vader almost grinned at Tarkin’s reaction.

The smile vanished entirely when Victor turned to him.

“Ah,” Victor breathed, striding casually towards the dark lord. “You must be the legendary Darth Vader. You know Wilhuff has told me grand things about you.” Rather than offer his hand, Victor tucked both hands behind his back, looking up at Vader as if observing an art piece at a museum. Cold, blue eyes studied Vader, openly observing him; calculating, analyzing, taking Vader apart and putting him back together with eyes as sharp as scalpels. 

Vader almost took a step back.

Almost.

“I can see why Wilhuff wished us to meet.”

“And what reason would that be?” Vader growled.

“Have a seat, Victor,” Tarkin said, curtly.

Tarkin took his place at the head of the long table, Vader at his right and Victor across from the dark lord.

Victor helped himself to the food, digging into the jams and butter and greedily slathering both on the biscuits. 

“What brings you to the Death Star, Victor?” Tarkin asked, pouring tea into his own tea cup first before his brother’s.

“I am in need of more materials. I thought an institution like your Empire would be keen to providing them to me.”

The teapot paused before it could reach Victor’s cup. “No.”

Vader watched Victor with interest. How would he take such an adamant denial from his elder sibling?

That infuriating smile - Victor maintained it easily, teeth bared and eyes empty, ego and hunger barely contained. “Now, dear brother, surely you are not using them. Why not donate to a worthy cause?”

“I will not donate members of the Empire, living or otherwise, to your experiments. I am sure there are plenty of systems that would be more amenable to your wishes.”

“Yes, but none so plentiful as the Empire,” Victor countered. “You go through Stormtroopers quicker than I go through lab assistance, Wilhuff. I am only asking for a dozen or two?”

Tarkin’s jaw tightened. “No.”

Victor’s smile redirected itself to Darth Vader. “What if in return, I help your friend here?”

The temperature of the room cooled several degrees as the Force gathered around Vader like storm clouds. 

“Victor,” Tarkin said, a warning in his tone. “I have yet to inform Lord Vader on why I wished you two to meet. You assured me that your possible assistance would not come at a price.”

“All things come at a price,” Victor purred. “The more compensation I receive, the better the quality of my work.”

Vader snarled. “My patience is at an end, Tarkin. Tell me why I was truly brought here…” he tilted his head slightly at Victor. “...or I will pull the answers from your brother myself.”

No trace of fear shone through Victor’s dark aura. In fact, those empty blue eyes glittered with something akin to excitement.

Tarkin, never one to be rattled by Vader’s threats, continued pouring tea. “My brother is a scientist with unique capabilities. His work deals with, shall we say, raw materials…”

“...he means corpses,” Victor clarified, lightly. "And my skills are applied to reanimating them."

“Yes,” Tarkin huffed. “I have told Victor a few vague details about your current condition and-”

“-And I can help you,” Victor cut in boldly, his smile turning into a confident sneer. “If you wish to be helped.”

The cups on the table trembled on their saucers.

The biscuits crumbled on their plates.

A painting fell off the wall.

“I do not need your help, Doctor.” Vader rumbled.

“Indeed you don’t,” Victor said, eyeing his teacup curiously. “Your feats across the galaxy have not gone unnoticed by me. However, there is no reason why you must continue your galactic conquests without allowing the best scientist in the galaxy to restore what has been taken away from you. Your legs and arms for instance. Your capacity to breath natural air again. Your-”

With a slight twitch of Vader’s gloved fingers, Victor’s throat pinched shut. 

Victor’s empty eyes widened - but not with enough surprise to satisfy Vader. 

He clawed at his collar - but not with the intense fear Vader had wished. 

Slowly, Vader turned to Tarkin who was giving him a mildly irritated frown. “I am more machine than man because the Force wills it. I have no use for restored humanity.”

“Not...human…” Victor wheezed, his grin returning. “...but...a better...monster…”

Vader watched the light start to fade from Victor’s eyes. 

And then he released him.

Any other human would have collapsed on the table, gulped for air, trembled with terror. Victor, however, drew only two rattled breaths, his long fingers touching his tie with barely a tremor as he looked at Vader with a shameless blue gaze.

Vader smiled.

And Victor smiled back.

“I will provide the raw materials myself. No Stormtroopers, no Imperials,” Vader said to Tarkin, then to Victor he continued, “I will choose the materials you will need for me personally, doctor.” 

Tarkin nodded. “Thank you, my lord.”

“Excellent,” Victor said, his voice a bit raspy. He clapped his hands and reached for his teacup. “I knew he would be reasonable, Wilhuff. I am sure after this we will be fine friends.”

_ If he survives that long, _ Vader thought with a secret smirk.

“...if you survive that long,” Tarkin said. His smirk was far less secret.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on tumblr: [SneakyBunyip](http://sneakybunyip.tumblr.com/)  
> Follow me on twitter: [SneakyBunyip](https://twitter.com/sneakybunyip)


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